Oh hell I am too tired to try to remember how to properly format an outline, and all the clever things I had thought up to write about are long gone out of my brain anyway.

I have spent the last two weeks smelling like a man, my husband to be exact. This is because I ran out of deodorant in the midst of our monthly didn’t make it to the next paycheck crisis and had to use his Old Spice Extreme Sport deodorant. After we raided my stepdaughter’s piggy bank to purchase formula I figured a few more bucks wouldn’t hurt to buy me some Secret so I could get back to smelling like a woman. Well I can’t find my deoderant anywhere. At first I thought maybe there was a recall, which of course sent my mind spiraling into a hypochondriacal (is this even a word?) panic of what kind of armpit cancer was probably already setting in. But I went to Secret’s website and no, apparently not a recall, SO WHERE THE HELL IS MY SECRET PLATINUM CLEAR GEL DEODERANT? Who uses a solid anymore?? So I am still wearing Old Spice and let me tell you, that shit does NOT WORK. For the first few hours you smell like an 8th grade boy who has way overdone it on the cologne and then the deoderant part wears off and you smell like a stinky 8th grade girl who nmade out with the 8th grade boy with too much cologne on. So I guess all that “strong enough for a man, ph balanced for a woman” crap isn’t crap after all. I miss my deoderant and maybe, just maybe today is the day I will find some at the store. It’s like winning the deoderant lottery for goodness sake!

My sweet little perfect been sleeping through the night since week three angel decided to wake up at 1:00 in the morning last night. To CHAT. With stuffed mobile creatures. Oh and the first few minutes of it, watching her beady eyes in the glow of the video monitor as she talked to her friends was cute, and endearing. After 30 minutes it was a getting a little old. And I guess she had had enough too, what with those little stuffed bastards not talking back, she got PISSED and decided to get the attention of someone in the house by wailing. You know how it starts out, with little impatient grunts and then longer pre-crying sounds, and you are laying there in your already-spent-the-whole-weekend-carrying-around-and-catering-to-14-pounds-of-sweet-angel-baby-coma praying to God or the gods or buddha that she will just PLEASE go back to sleep, when she starts full on caterwauling. This is when you begin to battle with dear sweet husband as to who can pretend to be asleep the longest, and I always win that one because he can not stand to hear her cry. He gets up with a grunt, of course flinging the covers on your side of the bed, which you grab and snuggle up in just to piss him off a little. You hear him in the nursery trying to console her and then the guilt sets in and the battle is not won. Of course, she wins, because she ends up in bed with you, her little bony head laying just so on your arm so that you can feel your fingers, but just barely, but you don’t want to move her because all anyone wants is just one night of really great sleep. And in the morning she is all smiles and stretches and cuteness and you just have to forgive her and blame those little bastard mobile animals for not doing their part.

So after that kind of a night getting dressed is a zombie like event. And I am sorry to say, but 5 months post partum I am still wearing my damn maternity clothes. I went to a baby shower this weekend. One of those where everyone is perfect and you feel like the sore thumb sticking out baby showers. Three women there had just had babies, as in four weeks ago, and 2 of the 3 no shit, had abs of steel. I mean NO BELLY left at all. No hint of human-just-grew-inside-my-body flab. IT WAS DISTURBING. I was insanely jealous, as I am having SO much trouble losing weight and seeing them made me feel like total crap. It doesn’t help that my mom suggested that I might want to shop at Lane Bryant, because well the clothes are cut more for my shape, which in the world of shapes amounts to CIRCLE, and no I am not knocking Lane Bryant or overweight people. Not at all because I am one. But the fact that it was spoken aloud that I am fat was like salt in my wound. I hate my post partum body. I hate it with every bit of my being. But I cannot muster up the energy to work out the way I need to to lose weight. How do you work all day, manage a household and still find time to work out? I find that by the time I get home at night, all I want to do is hug my baby and crash.